


What needed to be shown

by foggys_cupcake_girl



Series: Nightmare on Dream Street [6]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bathing/Washing, Bathroom Sex, Choking, Cinnamon Roll Percival Graves, Cinnamon rolls in love, Credence is the most cinnamon roll Dom ever, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Dom Credence Barebone, Dom/sub, Fluff and Smut, Hair-pulling, Happy Credence Barebone, I will NOT call it PWP don't make me, M/M, Mirror Sex, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Showers, Spanking, Sub Original Percival Graves, Subspace, Tender Sex, does very gentle verbal humiliation count as dirty talk?, it's actually Super Soft you guys I swear, more like choking-lite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28755753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggys_cupcake_girl/pseuds/foggys_cupcake_girl
Summary: As their new roles as Dom and sub are more firmly cemented inside the bedroom, Credence finds new ways to make Percy open up. And as Percy falls a little harder for Credence, he becomes comfortable enough to ask for things he never though he could.(Or: a smutty fluffy outtake from the N.O.D.S. series that no one asked for, but I wrote anyway because these two are damn cute and I can't help myself.)
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves
Series: Nightmare on Dream Street [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960255
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	What needed to be shown

**Author's Note:**

> Six months ago: UGH D/s is just scary scary noooo *backs away with vampire cross*  
> Now: SOOOO y'all want a scene where Credence spanks and play-chokes Percy in front of the bathroom mirror? SWEET LET'S DO ITTTT!
> 
> ...seriously guys even I don't know how this happened :P
> 
> There are several writers I could ~~blame~~ thank for the existence of this oneshot, but I'm gonna throw it out to redreaper86 and iPumperdiddle -- y'all are straight up enablers and I love you for it <3 <3 <3

I am Credence’s first love, but he’s not mine. So I think I speak with some authority when I say that he’s truly the best I’ve ever had.

Before Credence sex was another thing that got sucked up into the push and pull of _good-but-not-good-enough_ —getting into it in the moment, but questioning everything after _(did he fake it? he got me off twice and I only got him off once, does he think I’m a pillow princess? did the condom break? should I get tested just in case?)._ Before, it was yet another thing I was supposed to enjoy…and I did, but not _enough,_ and then I’d feel guilty for that, too.

But with Credence, it’s different. The first time we made love I told him, _bite me, scratch me, pull my hair._ I told him I liked the feigned helplessness. He saw through it and, instead of just getting aimlessly rough with me, he gave me something more. He’s an adrenaline junkie (of course he is; the poor guy wasn’t allowed to take a risk in his life until he was in his twenties) but he knew that wasn’t what I wanted, even though I told him it was.

He knows. God, I don’t know how, but he _knows._ And every time he gives me what I can’t tell him I crave, I fall a little more in love with him.

~

I love to take my time in the shower. It’s one of the few luxuries I try not to let myself feel guilty about savoring. Heat has always been good for me, something that helps me quiet the anxiety that constantly buzzes under my skin.

And Credence will shower with me on days we don’t have to be anywhere…like today. I’ve just finished washing my face and am about to start on my hair when I hear the curtain rustle, seconds before the shampoo bottle is plucked from my hand. “May I?” Credence’s voice echoes in the shower. 

He doesn’t wait for permission. His long, sure fingers begin to work over my scalp, moving steadily from the crown of my head to the base of my neck, and within moments I am putty in his hands. I’ve always loved to be touched. But his touch in particular…it’s addictive, I swear.

He guides me back under the hot spray of the shower, strokes back my hair and has me tilt my head back to keep the soap suds out of my eyes. “So beautiful,” he whispers. His mouth comes down on my neck and I can’t help but moan. The way he talks to me, touches me—it’s truly enough to make a grown man cry.

He takes his time sucking a hickey into the base of my throat. My eyes roll up as he caresses the bony curve of my hip, and then a soft gasp escapes as he bites down on the bruise he just gave me. The pain highlights the pleasure, sparking through my veins like a jolt from a jumper cable. My body strains against his, _please, please_ echoing in my mind. 

He pulls back and stares deep into my eyes. A little thrill runs through me, because I know that look. “Stand still,” he orders, and I do, staying as still as I possibly can while he picks up a bottle of lavender shower gel and cleans me, maintaining constant eye contact the whole time. He doesn’t use a washcloth, just his hands, and it’s almost unbearably sweet and intimate. When I try to do anything to help, he makes a warning little _mm-mmm_ noise. “Let me,” he insists, and proceeds with massaging the cool shower gel into my neck and shoulders.

“You don’t have to,” I say automatically.

He shoots me a pointed look. “I know, but I _want_ to, we’ve been over this. _”_

“Okay but I’m just saying—”

“Percy. Do I have to make you kneel for me? Would that get the point across?”

 _Oh, yes._ My heart speeds up just at the thought, and I want so badly to say _yes, God yes, make me kneel. Shove me down to your feet, pull my hair until it hurts, grab me by the throat, make me forget there was ever a time I wasn’t yours._

I don’t know why it’s so hard to just tell him when I want him to really put me in my place. Asking to be slapped or bitten in the heat of the moment is one thing, but there’s something sensitive about trying to tell him how good it makes me feel when he orders me around, _makes me_ submit to him.

He waits me out, a slow smile curving his lips. “Mmm. Isn’t that interesting.” He traces the curve of my cheek with his thumb, and my stomach does a flip. “Is that what you want?” When I don’t say anything, he just _looks_ at me and, fuck, I know what’s coming and I can’t put into words how badly I want it. “Tell me the safeword,” he commands in a low, soft voice that turns my insides to goo.

I lick my own lips, my mouth suddenly dry with anticipation. I’m already hard for him and given we’re naked and pressed up against each other he _knows,_ and it makes my heart beat faster. “Platypus.” 

“Very good,” he coos, and something flutters in my stomach, my heart skipping a little and I know it’s silly but I can’t help it, praise just _gets to me._

He gets us both out of the shower and starts to pat me down with a towel, and this time instead of insisting I can do it myself, I let him. He ruffles up my hair until it’s passably dry, and when I make for the hairbrush lying on the counter he grabs both my wrists. “No,” he says firmly, and I automatically go still. “Better,” he says with a smile, and then his eyes darken. “Now. Face the mirror,” he nods to the full length mirror next to the tub, “and on your knees.”

I turn around, slowly, and my heart hammers into my throat as I see us standing there, naked and messy-haired, stray drops of water still clinging to our skin. I look vaguely unsettled; Credence looks like a cat who’s just swallowed a watermelon-sized canary. “On your knees, Percy. _Now,”_ he says firmly. His hands come to my shoulders and I am pushed to my knees. “Much better,” he says with a dark little grin that sets my blood on fire. “Now just”—as he lets go of my shoulders—“stay there until I decide you can move.”

He paces back and forth behind me for a good minute or two, which feels like forever. My knees already hurt, my thighs are sore, and I’m starting to feel cold even though the steam hasn’t fully evaporated yet. I don’t like that he’s not touching me right now. But I don’t move. It feels very, _very_ important that I not move, because he told me not to.

After what feels like an age he says in a low voice, “I keep thinking about our first time…it was in front of a mirror, just like this, wasn’t it?” He continues pacing, and doesn’t touch. My skin tingles. I want to feel him so bad, but I don’t dare ask for a touch. “And now here we are with this lovely mirror in your bathroom…kind of feels like too good an opportunity to miss…”

I twitch involuntarily as he finally touches me, fingertips just brushing over my shoulder. Credence smiles, slow and feral. “I’m going to fuck you,” he decides, and my heart turns a somersault in my chest. We’ve never done that; he likes to have me inside him and has never asked for anything else, but now…

He tangles his fingers in my hair again and pulls, and a gasp forces its way out of my throat as my head is forced back. “I’m going to stand you up, and you’re going to put your hands against that mirror, and you are going to _watch_ me fuck you,” he tells me, his voice low and smooth and absolutely, beautifully dangerous. “And you’re going to let me. Why, love? Why are you going to let me do that to you?”

My throat goes dry. It takes me two tries to get the words out. “Because I’m yours?” I offer up nervously.

Credence shakes his head. “Correct, yes, but not the whole truth. Why are you on your knees right now? Why does it turn you on when I do _this?”_ He pulls my hair again, drawing a broken whimper from my throat.

I don’t know what to say. It’s so hard to _think_ when we do this. I just stare at him in the mirror until he gets impatient. He crouches down beside me and lets his breath caress my neck as he whispers, “Tell me why you let me do these things to you, Percy, or I won’t do anything.”

Oh, that’s not fair. I don’t know what he wants me to say…I swallow hard, my heart pounding. Tension coils in my limbs. “I—I don’t—because you can?”

“You know, Percy,” Credence murmurs, his fingertips just barely brushing my skin as he strokes down the length of my spine. “There’s one reason alone why I treat you like this,” he says. “You know it. Say it.”

My pulse throbs. Something inside me unlocks and I blurt out, “Because I want it.” A rush of relief hits me at saying it out loud. God, yes, I do want this. I let my head tip back into the hand that seems to just have been waiting to catch me, our eyes locked in the mirror.

“Was that so hard?” Credence teases, smiling indulgently. Then his eyes darken again and he stands, tugging my hair gently once to warn me, then pulling hard until I get the message and stand up. 

My legs don’t seem to want to work after kneeling for the last few minutes, and I sway a little as I stand. “Sorry,” I murmur as Credence steadies me.

He reaches out and squeezes my wrist twice, a silent _are you okay?_ I nod once, wordlessly telling him to keep going. He takes my hands and places them on the mirror, then gently tilts my head up when I look down. “I want your eyes on that mirror,” he tells me. His arms circle my waist, hands delicately stroking my belly. “You can let go, love,” he encourages me softly. “You’re safe. Just let me make you feel good.”

We’re getting close to that point now, I can _feel_ it, where he becomes my world, where the focus narrows so much that I forget anything outside Credence exists. It’s terrifying, the thought of letting myself give up control like this, but God, it feels so incredible.

“Just brace yourself on the mirror. Don’t take your hands off. I’m going to touch you, and you’re going to let me.” His hands move from my belly to my sides, stroking up and down with a feather-light touch. “Hmm, should I tickle you? It worked so well to calm you down the last time I tried it…”

Pleasure blooms in my stomach at the thought. Credence lightly dances his fingers up and down my sides, making me squirm a little because it _does_ tickle and just the anticipation is enough to set tendrils of arousal unfurling inside me. “A-Anything you want,” I stammer.

“Hmm…” He draws back a hand and suddenly smacks my ass, and a whimper involuntarily rips itself from my throat. “Oh, that’s right. You like this, don’t you,” he murmurs, and lightly strokes the curve of the cheek that he just hit. 

Heat floods my face, and when I look in the mirror I get a little jolt: _is_ that me, really, that flushed, wild-eyed creature, visibly strung out on pleasure? Credence’s eyes meet mine in the mirror and he lets out a little hum of approval. “This is what I wanted,” he murmurs, his hand still lightly squeezing my ass. “You, forced to see how _incredibly fucking hot_ you are when you’re worked up.”

“I want—” I can’t make the words come out. “Credence, _please—”_

“No,” he says suddenly, and I swear to God I almost cry. I just _want_ him so badly… “You admitted you wanted me in control,” he points out, his words rolling over me like raindrops. “You love it when I handle you roughly, when I slap you or spank you or pull your hair…but you won’t ask me for it.” He lets go of me entirely and my heart nearly stops. “Tell me, let’s see…three things you want me to do to you,” he commands. “Or we stop, right now.”

I want to drop my head again, look at the much more forgiving floor instead of in the mirror, but I can’t. Trying to catch his eyes through the mirror, I go for the easy one first: “I want—I want you to fuck me.”

“Mmm, that’s a good start,” he agrees pleasantly, and I watch him reach back and retrieve the little plastic squeeze-bottle of lube off the counter. He idly plays with it as he prompts, “What else?”

“I want you to spank me,” I tell him in a rush. Sweat beads on my forehead. I can’t meet my own eyes in the mirror right now, I don’t want to know what I look like. Nor do I want to know why the embarrassment of this is making me harder and more hungry for touch than ever. “And—fuck—no, it’s too much—”

“Just ask,” he urges me softly. “It’s okay, Percy. You can tell me what you want.”

“No, but you don’t have to do thi—”

“Sh-h-h. I’ll decide if I want to do it, love. Just tell me.”

I swallow again, licking my dry lips. This is such a huge ask and I feel so awful even hinting at it but God, I’ve been craving it for such a long time… “I want your—your hand on my throat.” His eyes widen just a little, and my heart drops into my stomach. “I don’t want you to really choke me, I just—I just want, you know, to know you _could_ hurt me, but you won’t,” I quickly clarify.

“All right, that’s good, thank you for telling me,” Credence says, his hand on the back of my head once more, stroking my hair in a repetitive, soothing motion. “Sh-h-h. Don’t be afraid. If that’s really what you want I’ll try it, okay? Just…” He bites his lip and briefly frowns, then perks up a little. “Okay. If you need me to stop and you can’t talk, for whatever reason, drop one hand from the mirror.”

I nod my understanding and he takes his place behind me once again. I briefly squeeze my eyes shut, then snap back open at the sound of the cap popping on the lube. “I’m going to open you up now, love,” Credence says, lightly stroking the base of my spine while a wet fingertip teases my entrance. “Has anyone done this to you before?”

“Yeah. Before— _oh,”_ I gasp as he sinks in the first finger up to the first knuckle. It’s familiar, but with him, it’s _new._ “Before you,” I continue, “I almost always bottomed. You, ah— _fuck,_ Credence—you kind of switched things up.”

“So you like it?” He sinks his finger in deeper, and a moan breaks free before I can temper it. “Oh, you _do,”_ he says with a delighted little chuckle. “Mmm, this is going to be fun…” He circles his finger inside me and I almost sob, sparks of pleasure racing through me as he teases me open.

An undignified whine spills past my lips as he stretches me, sinking another finger in beside the first and scissoring, crooking, pumping, breaking me in. I haven’t done this in forever and God, I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I felt it again. “More,” I gasp, the plea slipping out before I can stop it.

He obligingly sinks a third finger in and this time he hits pay dirt, and brushes something inside me that makes my eyes roll up and my knees threaten to buckle. “Ooh, that’s it, that’s what we want,” he hums as he shifts his fingers inside me, deliberately teasing that spot. With the hand that’s not fingering me, he lightly strokes the curve of my ass. “You know, I did promise a spanking, too…”

He telegraphs it, but the first slap still takes me by surprise. Especially—oh God in heaven—since his fingers are still inside me. My hands slip down the mirror, condensation and sweat making my grip weak, and my head drops forward and thunks against the fogged glass. I want to say his name, cry out, _something_ to let him know how good this feels, but I can’t.

But he must know, because he does it again, jolting his fingers against my prostate with every slap. The pleasure is so intense I feel dazed, too blissed out even to scream, and the fact that he breathes _yeah, take it_ or _so good, Percy, you’re doing so good_ in my ear with every slap just sucks me further into the black hole. 

It’s not just the physical sensation, although that alone has me on the verge of coming. It’s the fact that I can trust him to do this, that he lets me have this. That—I raise my head to look in the mirror and my heart nearly explodes— _he_ enjoys this, too. His eyes are dark and hungry and it makes me even more weak for him. He actually _licks his lips_ with each hit.

In this moment, I feel—transcendent. Incredible. I feel as if I would do anything for him. Like I don’t _have_ to do anything for anyone _but_ him. He owns me, my heart and my body, my mind, my very soul. _Love_ is not a strong enough word. My whole reason for being is to make him smile—or make him look at me like _that,_ like I’m a particularly juicy cut of meat he wants to savor.

“You can come,” he tells me after a particularly hard slap makes me keen. “It’s okay, love. It’s okay to feel good. I _want_ you to feel good. I _want_ you to come.”

And like magic, I do. Pleasure rolls through me, hot and messy and wonderful, as he massages that spot deep inside me, still tapping me with just-hard-enough spanks as I ride out the high. Oh God, but it feels good! I can’t look away, the sight of my own face contorted in pleasure as the orgasm rips through me like a cyclone is slightly horrifying but—

“You’re so beautiful when you come,” Credence hums, his hand cupping and stroking my warm ass, and that’s it…everything he says right now, my heart latches onto as truth. If he says it, it’s real. He thinks I’m beautiful, and therefore, at his words I _feel it._

A ragged moan leaves my lips, my head tilting submissively back. I’m _there._ I know this feeling, and associate it purely with him: this soft wave of relaxation that settles over me like a blanket and dulls my anxious mind better than any medication or liquor ever could.

“That’s it, so good. Just like that,” Credence says as he withdraws his fingers. I whimper slightly at the loss and he laughs against the back of my neck. “It’s okay, love. I’ll fill you up again,” he promises, and my knees just about buckle as I feel him behind me, bracing his body against mine, ready to push inside.

And then, impossibly, it gets even better.

His hand snakes around the front and rests just under my throat. Just rests there, splayed out, and I know he can feel the pulse of my heart. He doesn’t go directly for my throat. Doesn’t squeeze. Just lets his hand sit there, and my heart won’t stop, it’s pounding and pounding and I’m already lightheaded just from the thought of what’s coming. “Look at you,” he murmurs, drumming his fingertips against the side of my neck. “Tell me how badly you want it.”

A broken noise I didn’t know I could make works its way out of my throat. I can’t take my eyes off him in the mirror. He looks beautiful, almost predatory with those hungry, intense eyes. The sight of his hand so close to my throat makes me feel even more dizzy and vulnerable than I already did, and I let my head drop back against his shoulder as I breathe out, “Please, Credence? Please, I want it so bad, want _you_ so bad.”

It sounds like dirty talk from a bad porn and any other time we’d both be laughing at how cheesy it sounds. But right now the words echo off the tiles like a proclamation, and the way Credence tenderly kisses the curve of my neck like a priest offering benediction makes the pleasant fog in my head get a little thicker.

 _I’ve got you,_ his kisses say. _You’re safe,_ assures the hand on my hip, holding me firmly in place. _You’re allowed to have this,_ confirms the hand that lightly cups my throat. “Ohh, there it is,” Credence says when I moan, his hand just barely pressing against my neck. My eyes roll back at the touch. God, how badly I’ve wanted this. 

I have let exactly one other person choke me during sex and it was incredible, but it was absolutely terrifying and I ended up calling it off halfway in. I expected the guy to be mad, but he seemed relieved to retreat back into vanilla territory.

But Credence. Fuck. Just like everything else I’ve experienced with him, this is a cut above any experience I’ve ever had. Maybe it’s because I’m already in deep, but he barely has to put any pressure on my neck for me to feel lightheaded. “Easy there,” he hums when I make a little whining noise that’s supposed to tell him _harder, more, please._ “Don’t want to make you pass out, love. Just want you to feel it.” His thumb gently strokes the underside of my jaw, a gesture so tender it makes tears well in my eyes.

He squeezes a little. I gasp involuntarily and, rather than backing off, he rightly takes it as his cue to squeeze a little harder. I’m not watching anymore, I _can’t,_ my head is tipped back against his shoulder, my eyes are fluttering and I’m pretty sure if you asked me where I am or what day it is I couldn’t tell you. He’s not cutting off my air supply; I can breathe just fine. It’s the suggestion of it. The implication of what he _could_ do if he wanted to.

But he won’t. Credence will never, _ever_ hurt me, and it’s that understanding, more than the gentle choking, that sucks the breath from my lungs and leaves me weak.

 _This, forever,_ I think helplessly as Credence gives me one last delicate squeeze and then lets go. I gasp as if I’ve been asphyxiated forever, blood rushing to my face. For a moment I’m not sure I can still hold myself up—but my hands stay pressed to the mirror as if held by magnets. Because somewhere in my mind I _know_ that if I let go he stops, and I don’t want it to end.

“So good,” he whispers, his lips on my neck where his fingers were moments ago. “You’re doing so well. Do you still want me inside you, or do you think you might want to stop now?”

It takes a moment for the words to make sense, and another for me to remember how to speak. “I…yes. Please.”

“Please what? You have to tell me what you want,” he reminds me patiently.

 _God, no, don’t make me talk right now._ I’ve almost already forgotten what we’re even talking about, and it’s not until I force my eyes open and see that we’re both naked that I remember _oh, yeah, sex is a thing we’re about to do here._ “I want you to fuck me—” The words come out in a rush, accompanied by a moan that grows in volume as he lines himself up and slowly pushes inside.

Oh. _Heaven._ I can’t remember the last time someone had me like this. “Mmm, I like this,” he sighs, holding my hips with both hands as he moves in and out at a steady, rolling rhythm that feels incredible. He doesn’t fuck me hard and deep, doesn’t try to urge me to come again and for that I’m grateful, because I don’t think I can…God, I’m so tired…

“Close your eyes,” Credence encourages me. “Lean on the mirror. You’ve done so well, love. You can relax. We’re almost finished.” I let my eyes fall closed and rest my forehead against the mirror. Credence continues to rock in and out of me at an almost melodic pace, and it’s so obvious that he’s only chasing his own climax right now but I don’t feel used. His hands are gentle on my waist, his lips occasionally brush the back of my neck or trail down my spine, and it feels so incredibly intimate and special, it could go on forever and I wouldn’t mind.

I inhale sharply when I feel him come inside me. A rush of warm satisfaction flows through me as if I’m the one who’s just climaxed, enhanced by the low groan that spills from his mouth, his blissful _“Mmm, yes, so good Percy, you’re so good for me”_ increasing the feeling of satisfaction.

Moments later my legs finally give out as he sits down with me, guiding me to the floor to rest comfortably in his arms. “Easy there. Just rest now. You did so good,” he tells me, fingertips lightly brushing stray pieces of hair away from my eyes. “We’ll stay here a minute, all right, and then I need to get you somewhere comfortable.”

I can hear the words, but all I got out of that was _you did good._ It takes so much to shut out that voice inside me that constantly screams _you suck._ But right now all I can think about is how good it feels, this boneless, floating sensation of hazy satisfaction. He’s telling me I did well, and right now, I can’t help but believe him. So I tuck my head into the crook of his neck and, as I only do when we play like this, let myself completely relax.

~

I wake from a deep sleep to the sound of my husband trying and failing to quietly laugh at _Pretty Little Liars._ The room is so warm, most likely owing to the sun streaming in through the curtains, and it takes a second for me to wake up fully but when I do I realize I’m nestled up to Credence like a puppy. “Hi,” I say sleepily, dragging one arm out from under the blankets to rub my eyes. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon. You slept for a long time.” Credence pauses the TV and lies down beside me so we can see each other face-to-face. “You okay? Anything we need to talk about?”

“Nah, just the usual daily reminder that I had no idea I was marrying an actual sex god.”

He laughs a little. “Well, now I know you’re back online,” he teases me. Then the grin softens into something fond and gentle as he cups my face in his palm. “I wasn’t intending to take it that far today, but God, it was hot watching you just melt for me…I do have to ask though, where’d the choking thing come from?”

I wince a little, guilt already settling in my stomach. “Sorry. I kind of…sprung that on you in the moment. That wasn’t fair.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Credence quickly assures me. “It’s just just…was it all right? The pressure, I mean.”

“Oh. Yeah. It was good. Really good.”

“Okay. It’s just…” He bites his lip. “I—I don’t think I could do any more than that, I’m sorry. If you want me to actually _choke you,_ like, get you to the point of passing out or whatever, that’s…yeah, that’s not a thing I can do.” 

We’ve talked about this before. He’s more than willing to play around with kinks like spanking and tickling and biting, and to hold me down while we fuck or tie me up beforehand, but anything truly risky, anything that could leave permanent scars, is a very, _very_ hard limit for him. Hot wax, caning, knife play, suspension, anything in that neighborhood is an absolute no. Which, frankly, suits me just fine. It’s not really about the pain. It’s about me being forced to let him have control, and he knows that.

But this is new territory, something I was afraid to ask him for before now, and we do need to talk about it. “I don’t want to be choked hard,” I assure him, and he visibly relaxes. “It’s just another power exchange thing. Like, just knowing you could hurt me if you wanted to but you won’t.”

“Okay. Good. I can do that.” He smiles as he traces the line of my cheek with the tip of his thumb. “God, you’re incredible. I’ll never get tired of looking at you.” I’m on the verge of deflecting the compliment, and it must be on my face, because he outright laughs. “Never mind, I forgot, only submissive Percy accepts compliments,” he teases me.

“Oh, that does it—” I push back the blankets so I can pounce on him, pinning him underneath me, and he giggles and pretends to try and get away as I litter his face with kisses. “Mine,” I say playfully, and he responds by reaching up to tickle me. “Oh, not fair,” I protest, and he just giggles and rolls us over so that we’re side-by-side again.

“I love you so much,” he sighs, snuggling into my chest with his head tucked under my chin. I close my arms around him without hesitation, only too happy to hold him.

“Love you too, sweetheart.” He’s so warm and solid and vital in my arms, every breath he takes a reminder that I’m not alone, and I know that this moment won’t last forever, that eventually I’ll have to face the real world again, but right now I don’t care. Right now it’s enough to hold and be held, and know that as long as we’re with each other, we are safe.


End file.
